Beautiful Friendship- Johnlock
by WingsOfDuskAndDawn
Summary: Sherlock is a teenager who spends all his time studying in the library, while John is the librarian's assistant there nearly as often as the boy is. Neither of them knows that they are watching each other, until the librarian suggests to John that Sherlock might need a friend. What happens next? Read and find out. I OWN NOTHING.


**A/N: I got this prompt off a facebook page I'm part of (a Sherlock page, of course) so this is dedicated to the admins who put it on the page. I liked the prompt, guys, and I hope you like what I did with it.**

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His was the kind of brilliance even the nerds would die for. Sherlock Holmes was a genius unlike all other geniuses, and while he had all the expected flaws—the arrogance and social awkwardness that came with being unlike everyone else in the best ways—he was also surprisingly humble. At least, that was what the librarian thought, as she watched him put his books on the table and dutifully begin reading.

Sherlock spent nearly every afternoon here in the library, as well as any other time he could get here, and if someone wanted to find him for whatever reason, this was often the first place they would look. He always sat at the corner table, facing the room, reading book after book. Usually, they were completely unconnected to the courses he was taking, as he moved through books like water through a sieve. If he had school work, it was already done, or well on its way to being so.

But he never seemed to do anything but show up here and read, always alone, and that was somewhat worrisome, so much so that some of the teachers had discussed it and come to a conclusion: Sherlock desperately needed a friend. It was wonderful to have a student so devoted to his studies, but they worried that he would isolate himself completely, and no one could function completely alone.

Mrs. Stills, the librarian, gently nudged her assistant John Watson with her elbow, catching his attention so she could murmur in his ear.

"Do you know Sherlock, John?"

"Well sure, I guess. He's here all the time, isn't he?" John was completely oblivious to the gleam in Mrs. Stills's eye, focused as he was on the task of organizing returned books to shelve. John had originally come here to fulfil a community service requirement, something the medical school he was currently attending had suggested in return for a rather nice scholarship that had allowed him to go to school instead of into the army, but he'd found that he liked the place enough to keep returning even when his hours were long since logged.

John was a young man who understood passion, and that was why he admired the tall, skinny teenager for his devotion to school work. Very few people had that kind of dedication, and John had always wondered what it would be like to strike up a conversation with him. He just hadn't quite been brave enough, knowing that Sherlock talked to very few people and ignored most of his peers, like that Sally girl who was constantly coming to the library to flirt with John and her boyfriend Phillip who was constantly dragging her right back out. John wasn't all that much older, just a few years, in his second year of college after some time off while Sherlock was now in his last year of schooling.

"Yes, he is. He doesn't seem to have friends, besides those books of his. Perhaps you could talk to him, John? He seems very lonely." Mrs. Stills moved away then, to chat with the young girl who'd just walked into the library looking a little lost, and John turned her words over in his mind.

It wasn't quite true, that he looked lonely. Not exactly, anyway. It was more that he seemed to be an island unto himself, a fortress that blocked everything and everyone else out in the pursuit of knowledge. But knowledge, in and of itself, was not enough to sustain anyone. John loved his schooling, and loved healing people, and even understood why Sherlock would prefer the company of books to anyone else. That didn't mean, however, that he couldn't find a little time for friends, especially those who shared his passions at least in part.

Without giving himself too much time to think about it, John crossed the room and took a seat at the table beside Sherlock, not noticing when Mrs. Stills followed the girl out of the library and shut the door behind herself, on her way to an impromptu meeting with a fellow teacher to discuss research papers. The two of them were now alone in the library.

Sherlock nearly choked on his own saliva when he saw John Watson heading over to his table. Was he going to throw him out? Ask why he was always there, watching him out of the corner of his eye? _Blast it all_, he thought miserably, he was going to have to find something else to do with his time, instead of watching John as he went about his work.

There was a simple poetry in the way the young man moved, his movements both economical and careful whether he was shelving books or using the computer system. His hands were obviously strong but unfailingly gentle, touching the books with absent affection anytime he passed one of them. Those hands often came up to stroke the spines of the books when he was walking past them, and Sherlock had very often wondered what it would feel like to have those hands touching him with the same gentle care.

It wasn't a silly teenage crush, because Sherlock Holmes did not do silly teenage crushes. He had only half understood the impulse he'd had over the past couple of years to come back here day after day, only barely contemplated why his gaze strayed so often from his books, no matter that he pretended otherwise. He'd been quite surprised to realize that somewhere along the way, he'd fallen in love with John from afar, an affliction as foreign to him as the dark side of the moon.

Affection was uncharted territory, at least for him, but he found himself in the middle of it anyway. He felt painfully shy now, as John pulled out the seat beside him and sat down, that open, friendly expression on his face that made Sherlock nearly give a sigh of relief. Clearly, John didn't know how he felt, or he wouldn't look so happy. Of course, he looked happy all the time, often humming in contentment when he went about his work, so Sherlock supposed that was not a good indicator of his feelings. Nobody could be so peaceful _all_ the time… could he?

"Hey there, Sherlock. What are you reading?" John's voice felt like a ray of sun shining on his skin, and Sherlock savored the sensation for a moment, wondering how something so simple could cause such a reaction in him. His hands didn't shake as he carefully put his bookmark in and closed the current work he was reading, but he wasn't quite confident enough to meet John's eyes yet, so he kept his gaze on his hand, splayed out over the cover of the book, while he answered. He was amazed that John was paying him any attention at all. Was it possible he might like him?

"Darwin's 'The Origin of Species.'" Sherlock's voice was a low baritone murmur, and John was surprised to feel himself shiver a little. He'd never been attracted to a bloke before, but… well, it occurred to him now that the books weren't exactly his only reason for coming back here day after day. It had just taken him until now to see it. That was _bad, _because if Sherlock realized that John was pretty much hitting on him, he could turn him in and get him tossed out of here for good, maybe even thrown out of medical school.

Except… except Sherlock glanced up at him through his lashes just now, those long, inky strands revealing eyes of the most extraordinary color somewhere between blue, green, and silver, and there was something shy but hopeful deep in those depths that called to John, a lure that was impossible to ignore.

Slowly, as if he was a little afraid to move, Sherlock moved his hand gently over John's where it rested on the table, watching him as if to gauge his reaction. John felt his own breath hitch and his pulse skip before beginning to beat harder, and realized that his body was leaning toward Sherlock of its own accord.

They fell into it together, moving without knowing how or why, and then their lips were connected and there was a flash of pleasurable fire that moved through them both, searing and scorching and leaving nothing in its wake but exposed nerve endings and embers tossing carelessly in the air, looking for something else to set ablaze as John and Sherlock both gasped into the kiss, fingers tangling together instinctively as John's free hand came up to cup that pale cheek, thumb feathering over that sharp cheekbone before moving on to tangle in those soft dark curls.

When they pulled apart the action was slow and languorous, as if they had done this a thousand times before and had all the time in the world to do it again and again. John was drowning in Sherlock's eyes, and Sherlock was staring at him with wide, hazy eyes, nearly overcome with sensation.

"I… I'm sorry. I shouldn't have…" John started, but then Sherlock moved, pressing their lips together in a kiss that was far more urgent and chaste than their first. John groaned and responded instantly, the phrase "in for a penny" echoing in his head before his ability to think was buried under a downpour of heady sensation.

This time they were both gasping for breath when they parted, staring at one another as if they'd discovered some new, wonderful treasure that was as delightful as it was unexpected. Everything seemed to fall into place in that moment, as two lost souls that hadn't even known they were searching found each other in a firestorm of pure, shining happiness.

"Yes, you should have." Sherlock said when he gained the ability to speak again after a long moment where they were both held spellbound. "You should do it again, too, at least a thousand times a day."

John smiled a little at that, stroking his hand down the side of Sherlock's face, watching the younger man lean into it and close his eyes, seeking even the most fleeting of contact.

"Perhaps I should take you on a date first? Technically, you're legal, so this isn't wrong." John's voice was soft and contemplative, and Sherlock's eyes lit up like Christmas at the idea.

"Yes, and then we could kiss some more!" Sherlock's excitement made John laugh in a more carefree manner than he'd heard from himself in years, and he quickly scrawled his number on a loose sheet of paper before handing it to Sherlock.

"Here's my number, so you can text me anytime. Just let me know when you're free. I know you spend a lot of time studying."

Sherlock blushed then, biting his lip before biting the bullet.

"I only study so much because it lets me come here and watch you. You're so good to the books." The confession startled John a little before he found himself blushing as well.

"I will be good to you, too. And you don't need and excuse to see me, not anymore." John leaned over and kissed Sherlock one more time before heading back toward the counter, and not a moment too soon. Mrs. Stills came fluttering back in, muttering about what a twit the science teacher she'd been meeting with was, and John bit back a smile when she asked him, after finishing her rant, how his conversation with Sherlock had gone.

He could feel those extraordinary eyes practically burning a hole in the back of his head as he smiled and answered.

"I think, Mrs. Stills, that today marks the start of a beautiful friendship."


End file.
